by Joyce Alec
"A Lady as lovely as you is never a trouble at all."
His friend gave him a nervous glance.
How is it I have absolutely no trouble speaking to a woman as beautiful as Lady Penelope? he asked himself angrily. This felt far more familiar to him, and it was somewhat of a relief to be able to speak freely to a woman once again. And on the same hand, it was infuriating that Lady Agnes had been such a discouraging character, someone he could not understand.
He swore he could see color rise in her cheeks.
Is she…interested?
He suddenly felt devious, exposed, and inappropriate. These people around them were no fools; surely someone would have to know what he was up to. A deep, raging part of his own mind could not even believe that he was standing here in this crowd and had the audacity to even consider a match with this woman when he was still so obviously engaged to another!
Who am I? he wondered as he absently smiled at her as she told him and Lord Cheshire a story about something entirely irrelevant. What have I let myself become?
The song that had filled the room ended, and it pulled him from him from his own mind. He glanced around, and eventually joined the clapping with the rest of those in the room. He heard Lord Cheshire laugh at something that Lady Penelope had said, and he laughed as well. At what, he would most likely never know.
As had become his habit that evening, he glanced around the room for Lady Agnes, mostly to soothe his own conscience. Fear gripped him once more at the thought of her seeing him standing here with this Lady Penelope. It took him a moment to spot her, but when he did, he had to stifle a gasp that had formed in his throat.
She was beaming, and the light of the chandeliers overhead cast long tendrils of light into her long hair, giving it the appearance of liquid moonlight. She was happy, he realized, happier than he had seen her in weeks. Her arms were outstretched, and she was walking toward the middle of the room.
Many other people had their eyes on her as well, and there was fragmented applause from various guests. Apparently, they all had noticed her as well.
It wasn’t until he had realized that she was not looking at him that he searched for where her gaze was fixated, and it was on one of his friends, Lord Yorbourgh.
He was leading Lady Agnes out onto the dance floor to a series of applause, and she was gazing up at him as if he were the object of all of her affections.
A squirming unhappiness boiled up inside of him. She had smiled like that for him when they had been reintroduced. Carefree and genuine, just like how she smiled at Lord Yorbourgh.
He shook his head. Had the entire world changed when he wasn’t watching? Was he asleep, and this was all some sort of bizarre dream that he couldn’t seem to wake from? Had he ever been engaged to her at all?
He was vaguely aware that Lord Cheshire had asked him a question, but he did not much care in the moment. He could not believe her obvious pleasure at spending time with another man. It made him feel angry and hopeless all at the same time.
The pair came to the dance floor, and many people cleared a space for them. They were poised and ready, waiting for the music to begin.
John watched intently as Lord Yorbourgh said something and Lady Agnes threw back her head and laughed. It made him sick to his stomach. The music picked up again, and many around the room began to clap in time with the beat. Even Lady Penelope and Lord Cheshire turned to watch.
He knew that Lord Yorbourgh was a terrific dancer; he had spent many summers in London learning it with his mother, who had had a great passion for it. And he loved music. And, John knew, he was a very amusing individual.
It was almost torture to stand there, completely helpless, and watch the two of them dance. With every beat of the drums, he felt her drifting farther and farther from him. With every change in tune, he felt more and more powerless. And with every spin that she held onto his hand, he felt as if his heart might break into a thousand tiny pieces.
You’re jealous, old chap, he told himself.
He nearly swallowed his tongue when he realized it fully.
You’re jealous, and you are just going to sit here and let whatever this is happen.
He glared at Lord Yorbourgh, who was interacting so effortlessly at his Lady Agnes. His Lady Agnes. It was as if he had been struck by a train. He suddenly felt as if he had been a complete and utter idiot for ever, ever, wanting to break off the engagement with her. What was he, a young lad with no courage? Was he a man or was he a mouse?
No, this is not going to end this way. No matter what she might say to me, no matter what she might believe, she will know how I feel for her, and that I wish for nothing more than to be her husband.
“Lord Bridgewater, are you all right?”
He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of his name. He looked around wildly and saw Lady Penelope standing beside Lord Cheshire, and both were peering at him curiously.
“I’m…I’m fine, yes,” he said, and he felt so out of breath, almost as if he had run all the way to London and back.
“Are you quite sure?” Lord Cheshire asked. “You look particularly flustered.”
John swallowed and shook his head. “Not at all, my friend, not at all.”
He looked at Lady Penelope whose face was a picture of concern, and he suddenly wondered why he had found her so irresistible. Surely, she was a handsome woman, but there was nothing captivating about her aside from that. He was sure she was an amiable woman, but she was not Lady Agnes, with all of her genuineness and gentleness.
And so he was able to smile at her without reservation. “My lady, it has been a honor to meet you, but I believe that my beloved has been without my attention for far too long this evening.”
She smiled at his words, and it was almost as if she was flattered herself by them. “What a fortunate woman she is to have a man who loves her so.”
He was not quite sure that he had ever let that word pass through his mind before. Love. Is that what this feeling was? Is that what this insatiable desire was, the entire reason why he could not get her out of his mind? Was this the reason that he had fought himself so much about his decision to call off the wedding?
He bowed to the two of them and excused himself, feeling so light that he wondered if he would float off into the night. What a freeing feeling it was to be rid of the decision that he had so hastily made. He never liked it, not from the moment it had entered his head.
His sister intercepted him in the crowd, Lady Jane.
She stared up into his face.
“What happened to you?”
He beamed at her. “I prevented myself from making a terrible, terrible mistake.”
But before she could reply at all, he swept passed her and back into the crowd of people, determined to find Lady Agnes and dance with her for the rest of the night.
6
The ball continued on until the very early hours of the morning, and it was not until the first hints of dawn appeared on the horizon that the guests had all filtered out into the night, returning to their carriages and onto their own homes.
The manor was quiet the next morning.
Lord Bridgewater found himself sitting out on the terrace, a steaming hot cup of tea on the table beside him and a book in his hands. He was not reading it, of course, for his mind would not allow him to be swept into stories, no matter how tantalizing. No, his mind could think of only Lady Agnes, and when he might see her that morning.
They had indeed spent much of the rest of the night dancing, for John felt it was his duty to ensure that she did not have the chance to be swept away by some other man. By the end of the night, he was sure that she was at least happier with him than she had been standing out in the hall before the ball had begun. That thought had given him great comfort.
Still, after everything that had happened between them, or the lack thereof, he knew that a conversation of some sort had to occur. He was glad, over and over, that he had changed his mind. Only the good Lord c
ould have done such a thing, and he had spent much of the morning in prayer because of it. The relief was almost intoxicating, even then.
But he was no fool; one night of fun was not enough to repair what had happened up until that point, and he knew that he had to make it right.
His father had been right, after all, and it was his duty to fix it. He knew that he had been a stubborn man, and more than anything, desperate, and that was why he had not wanted to believe that he had been the one to blame.
Sleep had not found him, so he had risen earlier than everyone else in the house and managed to remain left alone for much of the morning. It was not until the heat of the day had started to shine on him that he heard the door to the terrace open, and footsteps wander outside.
He glanced over his shoulder and nearly dropped his cup when he saw Lady Agnes walking toward him.
She hesitated, her eyes finding his, and stood still. He rose to his feet, setting his cup down on the table, closing his books in his hands. They simply stood there and stared at one another. How often had this happened between them, and how many more times would it occur?
He felt a small smile pull at the corner of his mouth. “Good morning, Lady Agnes,” he said, softly.
Her eyes were wide, but she was not smiling.
He did not let it bother him, however. He looked over his shoulder. “Am I correct in assuming that you did not intend to be disturbed out here?”
She took a few slow steps toward him. “I did not think anyone would be awake yet,” she replied in an equally low voice.
He nodded. “I did not sleep last night, so I have been down here for some time.”
“Nor did I,” she replied, and he found that he was surprised by this and also somewhat pleased. Perhaps she had been awake for the same reasons as he had been.
“Lady Agnes,” he began.
There was never a better time to have the conversation he knew had to happen than at that exact moment. They were not likely to be interrupted, and with everything fresh in his mind, he knew that he had the strength and courage to now.
“Here,” he said, gesturing to the chair he had just vacated. “Please, come sit down. I think it is time that we had a talk.”
She looked between him and the seat before obliging, and she seated herself just as he sat in the chair on the opposite side of the table.
Silence fell over them again, and yet, he did not feel uncomfortable. He looked out into the gardens. “Isn’t it just beautiful this time of day?” he asked. “Look over there, did you see the sparrow seated there on that branch? They simply love this side of the manor. My mother insisted that her favorite chair face this window so she could sit in the study and watch the sparrows in comfort.”
He looked over at her and saw her watching him. She looked away as he looked at her, and he sighed.
“I assume you are not much interested in birds at the moment, are you?” he asked. He took a deep breath. “Very well. What I would like to discuss is…” as he began, he realized how difficult it was turning out to be. “I would like to discuss…our relationship.”
She simply stared at him, and he could see no joy, but also no resentment in her face. When she did not reply in any way, he pressed on.
“First of all, I…” He did not know what exactly to say. There was much on his mind, but putting it into a coherent string of thoughts was not as easy as he had hoped it would be. He just wanted her to see that he wanted to make this marriage work, that he was dedicated to it. Dedicated to her. But how did he say it?
She patiently waited for him to continue.
“I must apologize,” he said, finally, and he was not sure what had caused him to start with this point. Perhaps the guilt he had carried for so long was just too much, and he wished to free himself from it just as he had his decision the night before. “For being a complete and utter fool.”
She seemed taken aback, and her brow furrowed.
Before she could speak, he went on. “Ever since I met you, I have had an incredibly difficult time communicating with you. I have been unable to relax, engage in substantial conversation, or even remain in the same room as you. And every time I would attempt to remedy it, I found that it only became worse.”
He searched her face for some sort of understanding, but she kept her face as plain and unchanging as possible. She simply watched him.
He licked his lips and continued to pry open his own chest and expose his thoughts to her. “And I must admit, I found it infuriating because it was the first time in my life that I have ever had a difficult time speaking with a woman. It has always come easy to me because I believed that I had figured women out. All of them.”
The words came easy now. “But you…you were not like all of those women. They were all mysterious and vague, and socializing with them was…almost like a game. It was easy. And then I met you, and you were so much different, so much so that I found myself entirely unable to act like a decent human being.” He laughed a hollow laugh at his own words. “It sounds ridiculous, I know, but Lady Agnes…” he turned himself to face her, and gazed into her eyes. “You are such a gentle soul, so kind and compassionate. And more than all of that, you are genuine. And…” he looked down at his hands that were clasped tightly together in his lap, “I think that you intimidated me. It caused me so much internal strife that I withdrew like the idiot that I am, and instead of pursuing you the way that I should have, I became caught up in my own shortcomings.”
He wanted more than anything to reach across the distance between them and take her hand in his, but he was not sure if it would be received well, so he refrained. “So, for all of that, and for my inability to be the man that I should have been all along, as well as be the man that you deserve, I hope you will accept my deepest apologies.”
For the first time since she sat down, she looked out over the wall and into the gardens. The sound of the birds’ songs filled the space between them, and for a moment, it felt peaceful. He watched her as she sat still and quiet. He could see that she was thinking, and he did not wish to rush her in any way. He felt much better now that he had been able to explain some of the things he was feeling. He felt as if he was off to a very good start, and he felt confident that all of this was going to work out just fine.
She sighed, and he looked at her.
She turned her eyes back onto him, and he was incredibly surprised. “I must admit, Lord Bridgewater, that this was not at all what I was expecting you to say, when we finally sat down and talked.”
“So you expected that we would be having this conversation as well?” John asked, unable to contain himself. The curiosity was welling up inside of him, and he felt as if he would drop all pretenses in order to reach the truth.
She nodded her head very slowly.
“I did as well. I just knew that we had to sit down and talk, that all of these moments we have shared and not spoken had to come to this.”
She nodded again.
“Why did what I say surprise you?” he asked, a surge of nervousness and excitement coursing through him.
The corners of her mouth pulled up and she laughed a small laugh. She turned her eyes on him, and he saw in them, for the first time since she had arrived, an overflowing joy and anticipation. Her walls had come down, and somehow, everything that had been spoken between them in those last few moments was of more value than anything that had been said before.
“Lord Bridgewater, I have believed you to be utterly indifferent to me.”
He sighed and looked down at his hands. “I was told that repeatedly, by several members of my family.”
“No, I do not mean it in the way that you must assume I mean.” A wry smile appeared on her face. “No, I should not say it.”
“What is it?” he asked, leaning closer to her.
“No, I shouldn’t,” she repeated.
“I do not wish for you to hide anything from me, please,” he said very plainly, hoping she would believe him and understand. �
��There is nothing that you could say that would make me upset. I promise.”
Her hesitation was plain, but she took a deep breath, steadying herself. “Well, Lord Bridgewater, I felt that you were indifferent toward me…because I was not deserving of you.”
That was not what he had been expecting, and he sat back in his seat.
“I felt unworthy, and it made me very sad. All I wanted to do was to make you happy, and every time that we had any sort of interaction, I felt as if I could not. So, eventually, I just…simply stopped trying.”
He sighed heavily and could not bring himself to meet her eye. How could he have been so foolish as to come across in such a pompous manner? What had he done to make her question him so much? What a poor first impression he had made.
“Lady Agnes, I am…I am terribly, terribly sorry. I never thought that, not once.”
He heard her shift in her seat, but still could not look up.
“I do believe that,” she replied. “Honestly, up until last night, I assumed that you were going to…” she sighed, and forced herself to continue. “I assumed that you were going to break off the engagement.”
He froze, so she had been thinking it too.
“I will not lie to you,” he began. “I did consider ending it. I only wish to be honest with you.” He looked up at her face and saw that his words had hurt her. He held up his hands. “But please do not think I considered it because of me or what I felt was right. No, I believed that you deserved someone who would actually be able to speak to you and connect with you. I felt like a fish out of water around you, and what sort of husband would that make me? A very poor one.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “I could not even bring you tea properly.”
He heard her laugh.
“I thought that was a very kind gesture,” she said, in a small voice. “I did wonder if perhaps someone insist that you do that in order to keep up appearances and had convinced myself of it when you left that night. I felt as if you just simply did not want to be in the room with me.”